When World Collide!!
by Sasha M. Artzen
Summary: X-Files/Jag Crossover with out the hassle of John Edwards.
1. The Exposition: Can't Be to Careful with...

Title: When Worlds Collide  
  
1/of however many I feel like  
  
Legal Stuff: Ok I don't own Krycek or Marita. They Belong to that nice man we all love known as Chris Carter. I do not own Clark Palmer…(weeeeeeee) he belongs to The nice people who created him. Yadda yadda yadda…don't sue me.  
  
Writer's Notes: This was inspired by a conversation I had with some one over a poem I wrote. I think I said something that Krycek and Palmer would get along. And poof it happened so you get this nice piece-o-trash. The Title is taken from a Power man 5000 song called "When Worlds Collide". I kicked the idea around and here what you're getting Yippee Skippy. So you know that this is the part of the show where I say my thank you SO!! **Warning** Contains a lot of dialogue. Special Thanks: Any one else who happens to be important: You know who you are.  
  
PLEASE GIVE ME FEED BACK  
  
"One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble  
  
Not much between despair and ecstasy  
  
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble  
  
Can't be too careful with your company  
  
I can feel the devil walking next to me"  
  
~One Night in Bangkok  
  
  
  
It was another cold winter day in our nations capital. The wind blew and the snow fell but disappeared once it hit the crowds of people moving across the streets bundled up in their winter clothes. The wind settled for a moment before blowing harsh again making the District look much like a snow globe. This struck Alex Krycek as bad foreplay on the part of Mother Nature. He had always like snow storms, it made him reminiscing of his childhood. It those mid-western storms his father would disappear for days leaving him alone in the house. He would often hope that he'd get lost in a snowdrift. It was this memory that got him exited about the weather and then let down by this mere smattering.  
  
Oh, well. It could be worse. It could be another winter in some shit hole prison camp.  
  
He smiled; so far it was a good year so far. Mulder was gone (not that he didn't like Mulder. He had been amusing. It was that everything wrong in his life boiled down to the fact the man just wouldn't die.), that black lung son of a bitch was dead (or he hoped although he did like how sexy his caves looked in the ruby slippers.), business was booming, and to top it all off he had a date with Marita. Ok, it wasn't a date. I mean it would probably start out as a date. He knew at some point one of them, probably him since it's always his fault, would, say something to upset and insult, most likely her, the other. That would trigger the fighting about various elements of their relationship ("You left me to die", "You sent me to prison" "But I brought you back") and then the name calling ("Terrorist" "Bitch" "Murderer" "Concubine"). After what will feel like hours of them arguing it would lead to what the driving point of their relationship several good hours of sex. It wasn't that he was complaining about that. It seemed that the only passion in their relationship was this undying hatred that they had for each other.  
  
Neither one of them would end it or find someone else to date. They didn't trust anyone else enough to move on. Besides it gave them a chance to escape from what their world, both knowing where they stand with each other. Each knowing what the other knows about the world.  
  
It's why he wanted to retire to the private sector. He had been working on this dream for several years now. He wanted to move back to Branson and sell used cars. He figured he could buy a mail order bride and live the so- called American Dream, a simple kind of life. Until then, he was going to do what he had always done, live for today and take care of the one person who is important in his life; himself. He rounded the corner to Marita's D.C. Apartment. It always bothered him that she kept the place in the District. No, it bothered him that she had the place period. He knew how much Marita made a year. While as she was wealthy it just bothered him that she flaunted that wealth like that.  
  
It wasn't like it mattered; it didn't make the sex any better or worse for that matter. He climbed up the fire escape since the doorman and him just didn't get along (he was often accused of being Patrick Bateman). He climbed through the window into Martia's well-designed apartment (he had requested, when he had voice in this relationship you know incase Interpol or whomever showed up). She stood there looking like Marita (you know, semi-attractive but always pissed off). She stared at him blankly with her arms folded across her chest. He flashed that charming Krycek smile.  
  
"Do you ever use the door?"  
  
"Doors are overrated. I have this fear of being sucked into another dimension when I walk through them."  
  
"You're late, we've been waiting for you for about three hours."  
  
"We? Who is 'we'?"  
  
She rolled her eyes and walked towards the front room. Yea, that was something he wanted to hear as he followed into the main room. A man stood calmly in the shadows, checked his watch. Krycek could tell by his outline that this man had freakishly large year.  
  
"Oh this is Alex Krycek. How she spoke about I expected some great man of steel. Or at least the use of the door."  
  
"Who the fuck are you?"  
  
"Alex, how rude."  
  
"Marita, shut up, who are you?"  
  
"Who I am is irrelevant."  
  
"No it isn't, who are you"  
  
"Will you both act like adults and not play this game"  
  
"Marita Shut up."  
  
"I never." She said as she stomped off.  
  
"Sure you do." Krycek muttered under his breath.  
  
"All the time." The man continued.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"I'm Clark Palmer. Marita has told me a lot about you."  
  
"Anything good?"  
  
"Of course not you should know Marita better than that."  
  
"So what are you doing here?"  
  
"I don't know Marita just invited me over for drinks." Palmer Paused. "How do you know Marita?"  
  
"We worked together for a while. We are very close. You?"  
  
"I don't know, she just found me one day."  
  
"Yea, she has a tendency to do that. I use to think she was a witch."  
  
"She's probably is a student of the Dark Arts."  
  
"I heard that" She interjected from the kitchen.  
  
"See?" said Palmer. "Maybe she's in league with Lord Voldermort."  
  
"You read Harry Potter?"  
  
"Have you ever seen the prison libraries in America? I'm lucky to get to read Harry Potter."  
  
"At least you had a library."  
  
"Where were you?"  
  
"Tunisia."  
  
"War Crimes."  
  
"In a way…yes? You?"  
  
"My genius couldn't recognize by a jack ass Navy Lawyer. Oh, yea, attempted Murder."  
  
"Attempted. I think one of us is a poor assassin."  
  
He narrowed his eyes at Krycek. Clearly our hero had his a nerve, a pet peeve of our other hero. He breathed even calm breaths.  
  
"I'm not an assassin."  
  
"Then what are you?"  
  
"An artist."  
  
"Oh shit, your one of them."  
  
"What any idiot can walk up to a guy and pop him. Assassination is a true art. I mean think about it."  
  
"Now I see why you've been charged with attempted Murder."  
  
"No, the bastard got lucky."  
  
Marita walked back into the room looking at gentlemen. With a semi-role of her eyes, she walked back in. What was up with that after all the whole family happened to be here? Krycek looked at her while Palmer watched the exchange of non-verbal communication. The silence was awkward to say the least (really it is. We all know that the author is a stickler for dialogue).  
  
"Well its nice to see that I don't have to do formal introductions."  
  
"Marita can we talk." Krycek said.  
  
It wasn't a question it was more of a demand as he dragged Marita into a secluded room. It wasn't until he had closed the door that it was the infamous bedroom. He remembered the legendary four-poster bed. Where did the four-poster bed come from? Oh yea, the showing of her wealth. He knew that any creditability that this was an innocent conversation about her other guest. She turned to him with a smirk. A smirk, he thought, I thought she lost those muscles years ago.  
  
"Alex," she said pulling him closer to her and planted a kiss softly on his lips. "Why didn't you just say so?"  
  
He sighed in a continent matter, kissing back. It was more out of habit than in passion. A flurry of kisses soon fallowed as he moved towards the bed. He played with her hair. It felt greasy to the touch, had she put extra gel in because of the wind outside. He felt himself falling to the bed and her on top of him. She forced her tongue into his mouth removing his jacket and starting on to his shirt.  
  
"Don't you think that it's a bit rude for us to having fun in here with my quest outside?" She said between the deep and hard kisses.  
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"Didn't he tell you?  
  
"He told me who he was but I want to her it from you. Who is he?"  
  
She rolled off him unhappy with turn of events that were not going to lead. He sat as she then paced around the room displeased at him.  
  
"He's just a guy."  
  
"No, how the hell do you know him?"  
  
"Alex…it's not important"  
  
"Marita, when a man knows more about me that I know about him it's important."  
  
"He's former D.S.D., Clark has been very helpful for the cause."  
  
"And what does he want now."  
  
"If you're so interested then why don't you ask him." 


	2. Movement 1: More Dialogue than a Kevin S...

When Worlds Collide  
  
Chapter: 2 Movement 1: More Dialogue than a Kevin Smith Movie.  
  
Summary: Continual part of the When World Collide. Palmer and Krycek plan to fake his death (not palmer's Krycek's) More John Edwards Crossover  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: Oh I don't know, Milk and Existence.  
  
Writer's Note: Q: what you get when you cross a bored college student on a snowy day with out classes? A: This chapter Krycek /Palmer plots how to take care of that plot Hole: Krycek's death. My long-standing statement is that Krycek faked his death. If any one who could help him do it, it would be Clark Palmer. (Of course Mulder and Skinner are smarter than Rabb put together). I will explain why, who what and where this all happened. If you didn't figure out where I went with the last chapter the two met. Krycek and Palmer, after several drinks, have gotten to talking about him retiring this is Palmers suggestion based on things that both Marita and Krycek later on. This is the conversation later on. I wrote in dialogue. Note: I make some anti-Rabb remarks so if you like DJE and have no sense of humor then don't read my story  
  
Suggested Music: David Byrne or Ravi Shankar.  
  
"Unholy day,  
  
If I leave now I might get away.  
This weighs on me,  
As heavy as stone and as blue as I go."  
  
The Dave Matthew's Band  
  
The Stone  
  
Palmer: So, you're planning on retiring.  
  
Krycek: yea, I'm afraid my major health concern in life might happen.  
  
Palmer: What's that?  
  
Krycek: Lead Poisoning.  
  
Palmer: All you want is to fake your death...that shouldn't be hard. I've done it before.  
  
Krycek: No you didn't.  
  
Palmer: Shut up. Who's the Genius here?  
  
Krycek: Clearly not you.  
  
Palmer: Excuse me? I have done genius. What do you do? You're a thug who happened to get lucky.  
  
Krycek: and you're a thug who pretends to be a genius.  
  
Palmer: Pawn  
  
Krycek: Assassin  
  
Palmer: take that back.  
  
Krycek: That's what you are, an assassin not an artist.  
  
Palmer: Like you know anything about it. Like it takes a lot of dexterity to push an old man down a flight of stairs or shoot a guy in the back.  
  
Krycek: I'm not serving a prison term for braking into an apartment of a Navy Lawyer.  
  
Palmer: At least I'm Creative. Do you want my help or not?  
  
Krycek: sigh all right. What's your plan?  
  
Palmer: Well, Sasha....may I call you Sasha?  
  
Krycek: No  
  
Palmer: Right...Sasha the first step to being able to fake is to produce a body.  
  
Krycek: That shouldn't be hard...there are a lot of people who look like me.  
  
Palmer: You mean like that bad Canadian actor that was in that movie about mountain climbing?  
Krycek: He isn't a bad Canadian actor.  
  
Marita: He's kind of cute!!  
  
Palmer: Shut up Marita.  
  
Marita: Hey Clark, Bite me.  
  
Palmer: Later Dear, (mutters) witch  
  
Marita: Troll!!  
  
Palmer: Concubine.  
  
Krycek: this isn't remotely productive.  
  
Marita: You know, there is this guy running around who looks a hell of a lot like you.  
  
Krycek: Not the Canadian actor?  
  
Marita: No,....I saw him while you were out of country. If I didn't know better I'd swear he was you, Alex.  
  
Krycek: That makes it simple, we just find this person.  
  
Marita: True people will say he's Alex but how do we get him to say he's Alex?  
  
Palmer: That won't be a problem  
  
Krycek: Your going to reduce his brain to chocolate pudding aren't you?  
  
Palmer: Of course not, I'll be reducing it to Tapioca Pudding and then rebuild him in to a better machine.  
  
Krycek: No, I just wanted to make I wasn't the only one.  
  
Marita: So you're going to kill an innocent after you reduce his mind to giblet gravy just so you can retire.  
  
Palmer: it isn't gravy! Its tapioca pudding!!!  
  
Krycek: When you say it like that it sounds bad.  
  
Marita: Do you even worry that there might be a hell?  
  
Krycek: Not really.  
  
Palmer: Do you think we should?  
Marita: Argh. (Stomps off)  
  
Palmer: And you love her?  
  
Krycek: No, we just have great sex.  
  
Palmer: So do you have plans for after you retire?  
  
Krycek: To live out my life long dream.  
  
Palmer: What's that?  
  
Krycek: Used car sales.  
  
Palmer: So we've plotted the death of a man we haven't met and alienated marita.  
  
Krycek: Pretty much.  
  
Palmer: Let's go make some mischief. 


	3. Movement 2: The Valhalla Chapter

When Worlds Collide!!  
  
Movement 2: the Valhalla Chapter  
  
Rating: R possibly higher for shoe violence  
  
Summary: The kids play a game and we find out why it's called slash.  
  
Spoilers: Milk!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.  
  
Writer's Note: Well you've amazed me beyond recognition if you are reading this. It means I'm either amusing you on some level this is some morbid fascination with my writings. Either way I salute you! This is movement two in which this is probably the closets your going to get to slash, why because it's a response to a lot of slash out there and what the hell: I like men. Any who this is another chapter of sex and violence. ENJOY!  
  
Suggested Music: Some that really nifty like New Wave.  
  
"I get my kicks above the waist line sun shine"  
  
~One Night in Bangkok  
  
  
  
So as the pounding in his ear started to calm and settle to a low hum, he started to breath normally again. He could feel the blood pumping through his hard veins and his lungs wretched for fresh air. He could feel the blood and sweat stinging his eyes and then blinked rapidly. The sharp pain in his side started to number as a haze came over him. He was bleeding, tired, being perused by men with guns, and he just ran out of bullets.  
  
So far Alex Krycek's day was shaping up to be just super.  
  
He sat trying to rationalize how was going to get out of this little trap. He didn't know what he took or how he took it just that he got caught. That wasn't so much the point. The point was how the fuck was he going to get out? Getting caught wasn't a problem until you were faced with death. Getting out is a different story. He tried to think calmly as he heard footsteps approach. He tried to hush his ragged breath as they crew closer. He concentrated on the voices as they approached; he recognized that language.  
  
"French" he thought as the voice grew closer then farer away. He sighed in relief and waited for what seemed like an eternity before even thinking of checking to see if the coast was clear. He breathed again before standing up slowly. This might possibly the dumbest thing that our hero could have done. As he stood up a large blunt object attached to a hand came down on the back of his head. The blackness and floor came rushing towards him.  
  
***Later on when we are were are all dancing***  
  
His head was groggy as he slowly woke up. He took in his surrounding, dirty yet neat. His eyes focused on the darkness as he tried to move. It dawned on him; whatever he was on he had be securely hand cuffed to. He stared up above him where his hand was dangling; it appeared to be an ornate brass headboard. Original he thought sarcastically. He wondered what the point of this. After all he couldn't a good reason any one would want him bondage. Well, not a safe reason. He sat staring up at the ceiling really wishing that who ever or what ever would just make themselves public.  
  
"So, this is where our game of cat and mouse ends."  
  
Krycek lifted his head up to the familiar voice. He eyes narrowed in shock and confusion. No it couldn't be him. He felt a sick feeling in the pit of stomach. Oh, God could this day get any worse. The only thing that bothered him was how the hell did Mulder know where to find him. There he was: the man, the myth, and the monotone.  
  
"You look pretty good for some one whose suppose to be dead." Spoke the great Fox Mulder.  
  
"You'd be amazed who's dead these day. We all have lunch on Fridays kind of our little club." He blurted out carefully. His Voice cracked like some choirboy going through puberty. What the hell was wrong of him? He sounded scared to himself. This was the man he was able to beat even with one hand. Wait wasn't that how he beat himself…if these were his last thoughts he could do better. Still why was he like this? Oh, yea, it was the big fucking gun that was resting between his ribs. That's why he was acting scared. "What the fuck do you want Mulder?"  
  
He could feel the shift in weight of the spring as Mulder sat on the bed and peered down at him. A smile came over him.  
  
"Exactly." With that Mulder planted a tender kiss on our hero's lips.  
  
"Um…Mulder, I don't know how to say this but I get my kicks above the waistline."  
  
"I think we can change that."  
  
Krycek wasn't too pleased on what that most likely detailed. He could feel the weight and pressure of Mulder's body on his. He struggled under harsh kissing that followed but it seemed not to be working. It was this point that Our Hero gave up. This somewhat twisted rape only came to an end when a sickening thud was heard. Mulder collapsed to the floor. Krycek tighten his eyes chanting over in his mind. "Please not Skinner. Please not Skinner."  
  
"He's my bitch pencil neck." Said one of the voices from earlier  
  
"Was that really necessary?" replied the next.  
  
Krycek opened his eyes and looked up. He saw that his comrades. Luckily they had come along before the Mulder thing got to out of hand. He sighed as all three of them looked down at Mulder.  
  
"Well Marita I think you killed him." Said Palmer. He heard Mulder groan. "My mistake."  
  
"When did he get here?"  
  
"Dude I don't know."  
  
"I hope your both happy. I broke the heel on my favorite shoe on that punk."  
  
"Hey, Marita, read this thought."  
  
"Hey, Clark, Bite me."  
  
"So," Krycek interjected. "The Paint Ball Game is over."  
  
"Yea." Palmer. "So What now?"  
  
"How about we uncuff me and go."  
  
"How about we all just make out."  
  
Krycek and Palmer looked at each other and then at Marita.  
  
"Ok." 


End file.
